


Burn

by AeeDee



Category: DCU (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Aggression, Anal Sex, Asphyxiation, Canon-Typical Violence, Daddy Kink, Dark, Drabble, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 13:19:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6567928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeeDee/pseuds/AeeDee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wanted to imagine a POV that focused on Bruce's guilt re: his unforgivable act of violence against Jason. But it's not as dark as it sounds. It's intended as more of a snapshot than a complete story. (Please check tags for potential triggers.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn

Sometimes the demon rattles in his cage.

He’s much too close to the fire. He’s lighting a cigarette with a spark of his lighter and in the dark room an orange glow ghosts across his face. Snaps it shut and in the darkness a thin trail of smoke wafts towards the open window.

He doesn’t like to smoke after they have sex. He smokes before. Bruce remembers. Something about how it helps him forget the unpleasant things. 

No, he doesn’t ever forget. He said that before. Helps him overcome the pain, he said.

Bruce hates to think about it. But when his lover slides his cigarette between his lips and absent-mindedly undresses in front of him, it’s impossible not to. He undresses like it’s nothing, like it’s routine, but each time he moves he reveals another scar, and many of them were inflicted by his hands, his decisions. He can’t let his eyes settle on that body without recalling another memory, something he wishes he could bury.

Bruce wants to imagine another lifetime. Another chance. A life that saw both of them as they could have been. The path he didn’t take; the road that involved forgiveness, patience, tolerance. The path that didn’t lead to nearly taking Jason’s life. 

Jason exhales smoke and sends him a slow grin. He smells like he’s burning and looks like it, too. Like he’s on fire. Simmering slowly.

He prefers the lights off. Bruce knows why.

It’s the reason why Bruce can barely sleep, when they share a bed together. When he makes the mistake of letting his hands trace over those scars, imagining all the what-ifs and if-onlys. If only he hadn’t lost his temper. If only he hadn’t buried his grief. If only he hadn’t buried his love and let those powerful feelings fester until they confused his brain.

What a fragile man he is. 

“Why are you staring at me like that,” but the grin hasn’t left his lips, and he’s balancing his cigarette between two fingers as he leans closer. “You’re doing it again, aren’t you.”

He says nothing. Can’t deny it.

“Fuck,” but there’s a laugh chasing that down, and he’s taking another drag, even as he keeps his eyes fixed on him. “You’re miserable.”

Jason’s eyes are heavy for a moment, but he knows better than to dwell in the emotion lurking at the edge of those words. He’s always known better than to get dragged back into it. Even as Bruce lives and breathes his guilt, Jason laughs and kisses it away, like he can soothe those feelings with his body, his kisses, his hands. Rough hands. Calloused, scarred hands. 

Jason’s biting his neck and Bruce’s eyes fall closed. It doesn’t matter.

-

Jason put that cigarette out several minutes ago, but his breath smells like ash when he exhales. He’s still burning. He’s burning to the touch. Bruce’s fingers are pressing into his neck and he’s feeling the rough skin of the scar he left there, on the day Jason nearly died for the second time. He was so close. Right here. Thumbs against the most jagged part of it, against his throat and Jason nearly chokes. Said he couldn’t breathe right for a while, when it happened. Said he couldn’t speak for weeks.

Bruce never forgave himself. 

But there’s pleasure in that regret. “That’s right, daddy,” Jason almost coughs between thrusts, and Bruce’s hands are pressing down harder with each one, “Work out that frustration.”

He’s trying.-

“You fuck me like you hate me,” Jason told him before. Last time they did this. He stole a swig from Bruce’s glass of whiskey and said, “Every time we do it, I feel like I’m gonna die.” 

Jason starts to cough and Bruce eases up his grip. Slightly. Jason’s eyes grow wide; he stares at him with a ferocity, an intensity, “Don’t slow down.” Sends an impulsive grin and breathes, raspy and sore, “I’m still alive.”

That’s right. Bruce trails a hand down his chest. Fingers tracing against a spray of shrapnel marks, one resembling the exit wound of a bullet. Jason won’t tell him what caused it. He’s not one to keep secrets, so this one bothers him. Drives him mad. He claws against it and Jason almost winces. Whines through clenched teeth, “Don’t hurt me, daddy.”

But his eyes widen when Bruce leans down. Sinks and hovers above him, and Jason’s sending him a familiar grin, “Really.” Bruce pushes back inside and Jason shivers. They stare at each other, and it’s nothing they haven’t done before but the intimacy is uncomfortably serene; Jason wastes no time in licking Bruce’s neck.

Bruce's strong hands wind around Jason's back, and he finds the entry wound to the bullet he’s always wondering about. Small and clean, almost like it’s not there. But Bruce knows better. It’s a wound that must have caused him incredible pain. 

Jason looks up to tease him with some remark, but he gasps as Bruce buries those words in a deep kiss. Hands firm on his back, fingers teasing that gunshot wound and Bruce is so angry he’s shaking. Doesn’t know why. Doesn’t question it. Something in the sensation that someone else hurt him, that someone else committed damage that can’t be undone.

Someone foreign, someone unknown. It’s a jealousy that starts in his gut and travels through his entire body; angry, tense hands. Heavy eyes and this kiss, hungry and possessive, dominant. Jason’s rocking himself in a steady, controlled fashion, suppressing a moan as Bruce finds it difficult to hold much else back.

“It’s fine,” is Jason’s favorite thing to say. “It’s fine, I can take it.” And he laughed that last night they spent together, as he finished the last of the whiskey. Ran a hand through Bruce’s hair with a calm, almost kind smile. “If you wanna kill me, just go for it. I’ll survive.”

“I’m sorry,” Bruce had said. But Jason didn’t want to hear it. Made a frustrated noise. “Why do you even say that.”

Bruce didn’t understand, then. He couldn’t piece it together. Gave it a few minutes of thought, and as they got comfortable in bed, he raised the question as Jason started to sink beside him. “Do I go too far.”

And Jason laughed. Laughed genuinely, something warm from deep within. Shrugged and said, “I know how you are. You and me,” and he sat up slightly, looking at him more directly. Eyes heavy with tiredness, voice raspy and quiet. “We’re not put together right. We’re missing pieces somewhere up here,” and he pointed to his head. “But it’s okay.” Leaned in close and said, “you’re made for me,” and gave him a kiss.

“No one else can have you,” he’d said. “Because you’re here for me. Me, me… _me_ ,” he breathed it in a slow exhale, chewed on his bottom lip before letting it go. Looked down at him with something predatory, something dark. Something Bruce often saw within himself. A familiar darkness, reaching its hands around him.

He knows better, now. He doesn’t question it anymore. Why Jason is here. 

Why he comes back.

Bruce starts to kiss his jaw, but it’s not enough. Trails a few kisses and gets impatient, even as Jason smirks at him. If he’s finding it funny, it’s not enough. Not for either of them.

Bites down, hard and Jason curses under his breath. His jaw and then his neck, bites and sucks it hard enough to bruise and Jason is squirming. 

Jason’s cock is hard and sticky against Bruce’s stomach and he’s biting down exactly where he hurt him, at that gruesome scar on his neck, the sensitive flesh that Jason once called an iron brand. “It marks me as yours, doesn’t it,” he’d said with some humor. “It’s the most impressive one I have.”

Bruce groans under his breath and Jason’s hands are clawing lines down his back.

He leans back and sees the bruising, fresh and aggravated. Licks it almost delicately, almost as an apology before kissing him.

“Hey,” Jason says. Bruce pauses; waits. 

Jason’s staring at him intently. Licks his lips and says, “I’m getting close, yeah?”

Bruce nods.

Jason seems like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t have to. That always means the same thing. It’s not a suggestion he’s making. It’s a command. 

So Bruce licks Jason’s mouth and leans back. Rests his weight on his hands and tugs Jason’s legs slightly further apart. Jason’s closing his eyes in pleasure before Bruce even starts to thrust.

Thrusts like he means it, with everything he has. Closes his eyes and lets his emotions fuel him. That darkness. The demon within his skin. Imagines his hands as shadows sealing themselves around his neck as Jason starts to gasp and pant incoherent moans of pleasure. The bed frame’s hitting the wall and Jason’s panting his name, Bruce, Bruce- 

All he feels is that familiar fire, that heat consuming him. He’s burning alive.

_Bruce-_

Looks up at him and Jason’s gasping his name so beautifully- 

Presses his hands over his own neck, scarred and bruised, all the damage he’s caused-

“Bruce, I love you-”

Bruce closes his eyes and lets the demon eat his heart.


End file.
